


From What I've Tasted of Desire

by JonsaInTheNorth



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-15
Updated: 2016-07-15
Packaged: 2018-07-24 02:08:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7489206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JonsaInTheNorth/pseuds/JonsaInTheNorth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Daenerys POV: “She had no intention to marry yet she needed a heir and wanted a family. Her nephew refused to leave the North and marry so she travels to get him. Yet, everything makes sense the moment she sees his cousin. She was the kind of woman who won wars; the Lady of Winterfell is the kind of woman wars would be fought for, and the moment she sees the look of utter adoration he gives her she knows she has to make them marry.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	From What I've Tasted of Desire

It takes her two days to fly there, but the preparations to leave take nearly a week because her seamstresses must make her a wardrobe for colder weather. Daenerys does not expect to be in the North longer than she must, but her nephew can be so very stubborn and so she flies there expecting the worst.

Jon Targaryen looks nothing like her, she knows, but he is still family, and a Targaryen alone in the world is a sad thing. Some report they have the same nose, and that the pair possess a similar dimple in their foreheads when they concentrate deeply. Yet, there is something so non-Targaryen about a man who prefers the cold of the North against the hotter clime in the south, that it makes her wonder.

The North is a wreckage of dead bodies and still-smoking fires, crumbling buildings and melting snows that will not disappear fast enough. When finally the Night’s King and all his comrades fell, melted away under dragon steel and dragon fire, it took her no time to leave the barren wasteland of snow and ice, leaving it’s reconstruction in the hands of the direwolves.

The Starks have reforged their kingdom before, and she is certain that Lord Brandon and his sisters will build it up once again. Why the Winter Prince, as the smallfolk call him in their songs, must remain in the North is beyond the Dragon Queen. 

It is when Drogon lands in the open fields north of winter town, the power of his wings forcing back snow and dead grass to disperse around them, that Daenerys decides upon it: she will not leave until she has seen what keeps her nephew here. The North is still a part of her kingdom, despite its separation and great distance away, and so she should know it like she knows Dorne and the Reach, the Vale of Arryn and the Riverlands.

There is no one there to greet her, except for two horses and little Lady Arya, who gives her a cocked half-grin as Daenerys disembarks. “Welcome, your majesty.”

“Hello, Arya.” The Dragon Queen has met these Starks before, and knows Arya detests her part to play as a Lady. It was with great awe in her eyes that Arya had met Daenerys and Yara and the Sand Snakes when they came to play their part in the War for the Dawn. “Have you kept Dark Sister in good order?”

The Targaryen sword swings at the girl’s hip, polished brightly and well-cared for. After they ascend into their saddles Arya guides her towards the castle, informing her of the situation in Winterfell.

“I don’t know why he won’t come,” she admits under the force of Deanerys’ fiercest stare. “We don’t necessarily  _need_ him, although it will be awful strange when he isn’t here.”

“Where is Viserion?” The Queen asks, suddenly realizing the noted lack of the other dragon. “Where has your cousin run off to?”

The rest of the family not being there, she understands.  _They place their duties first, these Starks._  Bran is hard-put to leave without care from his attendants and Lady Sansa is always by his side, advising him on the ways of ruling. Her nephew’s presence, however, is dually noted. 

“Jon wanted to take Sansa out on a flight. They go every once in a while, and, well…” The thought is left empty:  _This may be their last one_. 

Daenerys keeps her musings to herself as she is settled into the Lord’s Chambers at Winterfell, specially set aside for the Queen’s visit. She has a view of the main courtyard and sees as the pair arrive back to the castle. Jon is careful as he helps Lady Sansa off her horse, and escorts her to the castle doors with the barest smile on her face. 

That night, her nephew appears at her door to escort her to the great hall for the elaborate feast that is prepared in her honor. He is still and silent, saying no more than a simple greeting. 

“How are you, nephew?” She asks, trying to get the man who would be her husband to speak.

“I am well.” He sits stiffly next to her at the high table after pulling out her seat. Daenerys does not understand his brooding features, for he was not so sullen when last they met. She does not understand the dark look in his eye,  the look that instantly goes away when the Lady of Winterfell emerges from the doorway. 

The room falls silent then, every lord and lady’s eye turned onto their ruling Stark, the red-haired woman who led them through the Long Night bravely and kindly. Daenerys Targaryen is the kind of woman who wins wars; Sansa Stark is the kind of woman who wars are fought for. And her nephew, by the Seven, is smiling brighter than she’s ever seen him. 

It all makes sense then, why her missives summoning him south were all but ignored, why she had to come all the way North to coax him into her arms. For her nephew is in love with his own Lady already, and it will be a tale the bards sing for ages to come.

“Lady Sansa.” Daenerys rises to greet the other woman, and take her into an embrace. She feels Sansa stiffen, obviously not expecting the Dragon Queen’s touch. “You must tell me everything that has been going on up here. I fear your cousin is not in good spirits now.”

Jon bristles in the corner of her eye, but she pays him no mind. They are soon joined by Lord Bran in his chair with Arya at his side and the feast commences. Daenerys pays careful attention to these Starks and their Dragon. It is not just Sansa who brightens her nephew’s face, although he has a special twinkle in his eye that is only for her. 

When the dancing begins, Jon opens with his Queen but spends nearly every other moment on the floor stepping on Arya and Sansa’s toes. He laughs with Bran and chases after Arya and her companion Gendry, but his interactions with Daenerys are harsh and forced. At the end of the night, he dutifully offers to escort her back to her chambers. 

 _A Targaryen alone in the world may be a sad thing, but a wolfpack will suffice for company_ , she thinks, a smile creeping on her face as he kisses Sansa on the cheek before offering his arm to Daenerys.

“So, I am sure you know why I have come, Jon.” She begins as they ascend the stairs.

“Aye.” His responsive is gruff, but not unkind.

“And what do you think of it?”

“I think you know.” He says, stopping before her door. Jon looks as if he would rather be anywhere else but here.

“Marriage is a way to cement alliances, nephew. Surely you must know this.” Daenerys knows she is playing with him, but she finds it somewhat amusing to see him bending to his duty and honor to her as his family first, before his own will.

“It matters not what I know or don’t. Lords will play their games and rulers will have their way.” His words are blunt, but reflect his disdain. Daenerys cups his cheek in her hands. They could have been a marvelous pair, she thinks, but a very unhappy one.

“If you won’t marry the Lady Sansa, I must insist you come to King’s Landing so we may find you a suitable bride.”

Jon recoils from her touch. “Sansa?”

“Well, yes.” Daenerys smiles faintly. “If I remain unwed, or if I bear no children, you and your line will rule after me. For my line to be assured, you must have a family of your own.”

“I thought-”

“Yes?” She raises a sim eyebrow.

He sighs. “I thought you wished to marry me.”

“I had considered it, its true. But you look at her like she’s the only other person in the room, Jon.” Daenerys pushes open her door. “Now, I expect you to handle the arrangements and talk with your betrothed. I will be here for two weeks, and I expect to leave with a goodniece here.”

She leaves her nephew with mouth agape in the hall, her mind already buzzing through the list of other bachelors in Westeros.

**Author's Note:**

> Come hang out and fangirl about Jonsa and other ASOIAF/GOT goodness with me on [tumblr](http://jonsa-in-the-north.tumblr.com).


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